


The First Time (blind in the dark)

by Ensignabby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x18 coda, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, The Empty (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29315700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ensignabby/pseuds/Ensignabby
Summary: Hesitant at first, then a desperate grasping. The caresses are frantic, violent; surely there is no chance they will come again. The blackness sighs.“You’re not real.” It says.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	The First Time (blind in the dark)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starrynightdeancas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrynightdeancas/gifts).



The first time it happens, Dean confuses it for the same dreams of feverish longing that had gripped him before the… event. The ones that would twist his sheets and wake him with an ache in the spot in his heart that he reserved for a day that would never come. 

In the following days, he hadn’t had the chance to dream; after crying himself hoarse on the floor of that armory, he went through his waking hours drenched in apathy, the only reprieve aided at night by his favorite black-label whiskey. His sleep is void and formless. It provides no relief.

So when he miscalculates and fails to drink enough to numb himself one night, the dreams start coming. And vividly. 

At first, they seem to have no form. It is all blindness and feeling, a reaching out… The one he desires is there in the darkness. 

A breath. A touch. 

Hesitant at first, then a desperate grasping. The caresses are frantic, violent; surely there is no chance they will come again. The blackness sighs.

“You’re not real.” It says.

Dean can feel the form beside him, flourishing into full substance, grasping it tighter lest he lose it, senses overwhelmed with the familiar scent of cedar and ozone. Cleansing rain after a drought. “If I’m not real, then neither are you.”

But the intensity of the embrace remains. Dean feels it when he wakes.

The second time it happens, Dean is eager as he seeks out that warmth. He is folded into arms, expected, welcomed.

Dean feels the touch of a hand on his cheek, and he inclines his head, seeking the comfort in that void, wishing he could see a face. “I miss you so much, Cas,” he whispers.

A breath. A sob. “This is torture.”

Sadness emanates, penetrates Dean’s soul. He can feel Castiel’s sorrow, and he weeps as well. “I’m so sorry that you felt alone. You never should have felt alone.”

“I _am_ alone… it’s more than I can bear.” There is hesitance, but then Castiel’s grip tightens, hands travelling up Dean’s back, holding him in place. “But if you _are_ just a figment sent here to torment me, I’ll take what solace I can make of it. It’s all I have left.”

Dean seeks out familiar features, feels the stubbled cheekbones under his thumbs, says what he dared not to in the waking world. “You had me. You will always have me. Just please,” He begs, “ _Don’t leave me_.”

He tastes lips ghosted with the salt of tears, and he shudders under the weight of how real it all feels. He wonders if anything can feel as real as that moment. 

When he wakes up that morning, and the many mornings after, nothing does. 

His eyes are open to the world, but he is dead to the sensation of it. He comes alive only when his eyes are closed once again, when he can feel claimed again, losing himself to Castiel’s touch in that endless obscurity.

And then, with just as much force as they invaded Dean’s existence, the dreams stop coming. 

No matter how much he claws at the darkness, there is nothing to grasp, no one to hold him when his prayers are shouted to the nothingness. 

Then Dean starts to _panic_. Nothing awaits for him but a life left colorless. He can see nothing unfolding before him but days uncounted. An unending march of a masquerade. He knows how to hide, to stifle; he’s been doing it his entire life. But this time, there would be no way to stem the cracks of his crumbling façade… 

That is, until an unnatural peace settles over him, like a warm blanket has been set on his shoulders. A whisper, a golden blooming of love in his chest. A breath. A touch. He doesn’t know why, but something is telling him that it’s okay. He’ll be okay. That joy is coming.

It’s that promise that he hangs onto, even as he says goodbye to his brother and his vision fails him. He knows deep within his soul that the rest he seeks is on the other side.

And the first time he sees Castiel in heaven, when he is enveloped once again in the gentleness that he felt in that midnight, he understands. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was posted for the prompt: firsts for @starrynightdeancas on tumblr to celebrate her "2k Followers Celebration Content Creator Event."  
> Inspired very loosely on the song "Underneath a Moonless Sky," from Phantom: Love Never Dies. Bad musical, good song.  
> Thank you for reading/reviewing in advance!


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